“Look, I appreciate the way you defended Deidre against the Tweedles at dinner, but let’s not pretend that I don’t know exactly what you’re doing and why you’re doing it.”
Amusement quirked up the corner of his mouth. “Tweedles?”
Ivy slapped a hand over her mouth. Oh, jeez. Had she really said that out loud?
“Like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?” A deep rumble of infectious laughter rolled from his chest and had a grin tugging at the corners of her own mouth.
And just as quickly it fizzled away.
Ugh!
He was doing it again. Softening her up. Lowering the ick factor of just being near him.
“You need to leave,” she said. “I have work to finish.”
He didn’t move. “I guess you got that e-mail from your editor, huh?”
“That’s right,” she fibbed. “I’m incredibly busy right now.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” He eased away from the ledge, and she resisted the urge to step back. “You know, I could always tell when you were lying.”
“I guess it takes one to know one,” she snapped.
The humor slipped from his face, and she could see that she’d hit a nerve. Well, good. He had it coming.
Then why did she feel like such a louse?
He took another step closer. “Did I ever lie to you, Ivy?”
“I am not doing this.” She turned and walked to the closet. She flung the door open and snatched her robe from the hanger. “I refuse to get sucked into a conversation about a relationship that has been over for ten years.”
She thrust her arms through the sleeves and bound the belt securely at her waist. She swung around and nearly plowed into him. He was right behind her.
“The truth, Ivy.” Every trace of playful cockiness had disappeared from his voice. “Did I ever once lie to you?”
Her heart rattled around in her chest. She remembered this man. The quiet, serious, alter ego. His appearances had been rare, but they had always intimidated the hell out of her. And Dillon knew it.
Had he been hiding in the background all this time, waiting for just the right moment to pounce?
“I don’t owe you a thing.”
He stepped closer, his eyes locked on her face, and every cell in her body went on full alert, every neuron in her brain lit off like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“Did I ever lie to you?”
Don’t do it, she warned her traitorous subconscious. Don’t you dare say what you’re thinking. It doesn’t matter anymore. It will only make things worse.
Don’t say a word.
He stepped closer, until he was only inches away. His hair was a little windblown from his walk along the beach, and she could smell the scent of the ocean on his skin and clothes. Steel-blue eyes bore through her, stripping her bare, and her feet felt cemented to the floor.
She couldn’t move.
“Ivy?”
“No!” she shrieked, no longer able to contain the anger and frustration and hurt that had been festering for far too long. “You never lied to me, Dillon. In fact, you made it distinctly clear just how little our marriage meant to you.”
She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth, but it was too late to take them back. She was still bitter and hurt by the divorce and now he knew it. And she didn’t doubt he would use it against her.
For several long seconds he just stared at her, his expression impossible to decipher. Finally, his voice neither warm nor cold, he said, “I wasn’t the one who walked out the door.”
His words felt like a slap across the face and literally knocked her back a step. He wasn’t suggesting the demise of their marriage was her fault, was he? There was only one person to blame, and he was standing right in front of her.
Who had repeatedly stayed out every night and come home drunk while she had done her best to get an education? Who had blown his money gambling week after week?
And who had sicced his father on the grant committee and had her scholarship revoked?
May be he hadn’t lied, but what he’d done was worse.
He’d let her down.
For a second they just stood there looking at each other, then he shook his head, so subtly she had to wonder if she’d really seen it or if it had been a trick of the light.
“Good night, Ivy.” He turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
And for some stupid reason she felt like crying.
She didn’t care what he believed. What had happened to their marriage was not her fault. She may have been the one to physically walk out the door, but emotionally, Dillon had already been long gone.
Ivy dove into the pool, limbs slicing across the still water like a hot knife through cool butter. Thanks to Mr. I-never-lied-to-you, she’d slept like hell and woke at dawn. But with each stroke she could feel the stress from the previous night begin to evaporate, burned away by the adrenaline and endorphins coursing through her bloodstream.
She’d always had something of a love/hate relationship with exercise. She’d been blessed with a naturally slim figure, so her sporadic visits to the gym never caused her concern. In the last few years, however, she’d noticed things gradually beginning to expand and spread.
Hence her daily morning swim. It was the one thing that felt the least like real exercise. And while it wouldn’t bring back the figure of her youth, she was able to comfortably maintain her present weight.
She only wished some of that extra weight had been redistributed to her less than impressive bustline.
She completed her laps and surfaced, and there, not three feet away, lay Dillon in a lounge chair beside the pool, a mug of coffee in one hand. Watching her, of course.
Here we go again.
She couldn’t see what he had on from the waist down, other than the fact that his feet and calves were bare, but from the waist up he wore a deep tan and a sleepy smile. One that said, hmm, how can I mess with Ivy today?
She ignored the sudden lightness in her chest, the jittery, nervous feeling in her stomach. She repressed the why me groan working its way up her chest.
“Morning,” he said. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw and his hair had that mussed, just-rolled-out-of-the-sack look.
She wondered how long he’d been sitting there watching her. She’d never seen him crawl out of bed before ten in the morning. Usually it was closer to noon.
She swam to the ladder and climbed out, facing away from him, feeling uncomfortable despite her modest one-piece suit. It was still too revealing. Too likely to show off the changes in her body, when his own physique appeared to have only improved with age.
And really, why did she care?
She wrapped herself in a towel, squeezing the excess water from her hair. “You’re awake early.”
“I’m an early riser these days.”
Just her luck. More time he could spend harassing her.
Yet nothing good would come of letting him see that he was irritating her. Last night was an unfortunate setback. It was imperative that today she play it cool. She had to be patient.
She grabbed her iced coffee from the table where she’d left it and turned to her ex. When she realized how he was dressed, the cup nearly slipped from her grasp.
Deep down in the rational part of her brain, she knew he was going for shock value. She knew the appropriate reaction was no reaction at all.
Unfortunately, at the moment, her rational brain was not calling the shots. “What are you wearing?”
He looked down to his lap, at what appeared to be a pair of very expensive black silk boxers. “Skivvies,” he said casually, as though there was nothing at all inappropriate about walking around a strange house in his underwear. “I would have put on pajamas, but as I’m sure you recall, I don’t wear any. Besides,” he said, with a slight wiggle of his eyebrows, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“There are six other people in this house, you know.”
“And
they’re all sound asleep.”
“Not to mention the housekeep—” She stopped abruptly and spun away from him. “For pity’s sake, at least have the decency to button your fly.”
“Whoops,” she heard him say, although he didn’t sound all that concerned with his faux pas. The man would go to any lengths to make her uncomfortable.
“No wonder the housekeeper looked at me funny when I was pouring my coffee.” There was a short pause, then he said, “The stallion is locked back in the stable. You can turn around now.”
Facing him meant he would possibly see the red patches of embarrassment blooming across her cheeks. But not facing him would be even worse.
She turned, keeping her eyes above neck level. Looking at his bare chest reminded her of touching his bare chest, which reminded her of other things they used to do. Which would only make the blush burn brighter.
“When did you start swimming?” he asked. “I seemed to recall you hating exercise.”
“I still do, but some of us have to work at it.”
“And you’re assumin’ I don’t? Would it surprise you to learn that I go to the gym every morning before work?”
Being surprised wasn’t the issue. She didn’t want to know about his life. It humanized him, made him seem like a regular guy. She preferred to keep him in the niche she’d carved out for him. That place in her mind where he would always be arrogant and cocky and totally unappealing.
“Although I never did learn how to swim,” he said, which she found incredibly hard to swallow. True, she’d never actually seen him swim, but his home had been highlighted on some decorating show on cable television—or so someone had told her. From what she heard he owned a big, fancy mansion—she might have even driven past it one time, accidentally, of course—where he’d installed an Olympic-size indoor pool. He wasn’t married, didn’t have children. Why install a pool if he didn’t plan to use it?
“You should try it sometime,” she said.
“Are you going golfing today?” he asked, referring to the golf outing Blake and Deidre had scheduled.
Apparently, he didn’t remember everything about her. She did not golf.
She was about to tell him no, she didn’t plan to go, but caught herself. There was only one thing Dillon had loved more than drinking and gambling. That was golfing. But if he knew she wasn’t going, he might very well skip it and spend the entire day harassing her.
“I’m going,” she lied.
“Blake said we’re meeting in the foyer at ten-fifteen.”
That could be a problem. If she didn’t show, he would know she wasn’t going. Of course, if she was already gone by ten-fifteen, he would have no idea where to look for her. It shouldn’t be all that tough to slip away. “Well then, I should hurry back to my room and get ready.”
“Wear something cool,” he called after her as she rushed inside. “It’s going to be a scorcher.”
“Will do!” she shot back. She could sneak out of the house by ten, and Dillon would never be the wiser. And she would have the entire day all to herself.
Five
Is your ex harassing you? Trying to intimidate you? Take action and beat him at his own game! It’s easier than you may think.
—excerpt from The Modern Woman’s Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)
He’d reduced himself to stalking.
Dillon followed several yards behind Ivy as she browsed the merchandise lining the streets of the shopping district. He’d been following her since she snuck out of the house this morning.
He couldn’t help thinking that he’d sunk pitifully low, but he had to keep his eye on the prize. Seeing Ivy broken and begging for forgiveness.
The sun brought out the reddish-gold highlights in her hair, and a cool breeze blowing off the ocean ruffled the full, filmy-looking skirt she wore, playing a tantalizing game of peek-a-boo with those long, toned, milky-white legs.
She wore a simple, pale blue tank top that settled nicely on shoulders that, on someone else, would have been too narrow and angular. But everything about her body fit just right. He wasn’t the only one who noticed, either. As she wandered down the cobblestone street, dignified and May be a touch aloof, heads turned and eyes looked on with interest.
But he knew something they didn’t. He knew the feisty, passionate girl she hid behind that curtain of quiet grace. There were times when he missed that woman. But she had disappeared the moment they’d said I do.
He wondered what it would take to draw her out. If she even existed any longer. Somehow he doubted it.
It might be fun finding out though.
Ivy picked up a bottle of something from a table, perfume May be, and lifted it to her nose. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, a dreamy look on her face.
The vendor behind the table said something, and she smiled and shook her head. A genuine, easy smile. One he hadn’t seen in a very long time. Even on the inside jacket of her book, which he had grudgingly skimmed at Barnes & Noble, she’d been all business. And near the end of their marriage neither had done much in the way of smiling. Not at each other, anyway.
That had always been Ivy’s problem. She was too repressed and too driven. She’d never learned how to have fun. At least, not out of the bedroom. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to teach her. They had been making good progress, then they got married and she did a one-eighty on him.
After a bit of haggling, she reached into the pack she wore around her waist, pulled out several bills and handed them to the vendor. She slipped her purchase inside her pack and moved on to the next canopy.
She looked so relaxed and serene. At peace with herself and the world.
A grin curled his mouth. What better time to mosey up and say hello?
“Well, well, what a coincidence,” he drawled from behind her in that counterfeit twang he knew grated on her nerves.
Her hand stilled midair, just short of the colorful silk shawl she’d been about to look at, and every inch of her went rigid.
This was too easy. Better than greeting her this morning in his underwear, although that had been pretty damned funny. She obviously hadn’t noticed the robe draped over the chair beside him.
Still only seeing what she wanted to see, believing what she wanted to believe.
Ivy paused and took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength—or May be her patience—then turned to face him. She’d sufficiently wiped any trace of emotion from her face, but she forgot who she was dealing with. He picked up on the subtle signs no one else noticed. The crinkle in her brow and the slight tightening of her jaw. The way she ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes the tiniest bit.
Things she probably wasn’t even aware she was doing.
She could pretend she wasn’t annoyed, but he knew better.
“Why do I sincerely doubt this is a coincidence?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with you bein’ somethin’ of a pessimist, now would it?”
“What are you doing here?”
He flashed her a grin and held up the bag he was carrying. “Souvenirs. For my secretary.”
“Lingerie?” she guessed.
“Nah. My preferences in sleepwear lean toward the casual. Oversize T-shirts…” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Or nothing at all.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Not to mention the fact that my secretary is sixty-eight.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be playing golf?”
“Shopping sounded like more fun.”
She let an undignified snort slip out. “Now I know you’re lying. You love playing golf, and you always hated shopping.”
“That is true. It’s the company I wasn’t all that thrilled about. What was it you called them? The Tweedles?”
It wasn’t a lie. He’d had more of those two than he could stomach at dinner last night. And torturing Ivy won out over golf any day of the week. He just had to accidentally bump into her, the way
he’d “accidentally” walked into her room. What he hadn’t counted on last night was getting himself sucked into a touchy-feely debate about their failed marriage.
She was still trying to pin the blame on him. No big surprise there.
Miss Perfect. Miss Nothing-is-ever-good-enough-for-me. May be he’d made a mistake or two, minor ones, but if anyone was ultimately responsible for the divorce, it was her.
And why had she assumed that what he’d done at dinner last night had anything to do with her? He was merely helping a friend. Blake was a good guy, the kind who would give a stranger the shirt off his back in the middle of a blizzard. But as long as Dillon had known him, Blake let his family walk all over him. With golf cleats on.
Deidre was the perfect match for him. Soft-spoken and demure, and May be a little awkward. Although Dillon sensed there was more to her than met the eye, the spark of something more complex. A confidence that she hadn’t let herself explore. If that was the case, Dillon suspected that she would only take so much more from his family before she blew a gasket.
He hoped so. Otherwise, they would eat her for breakfast.
“Well,” Ivy said with a forced smile. “It was…nice seeing you again.”
He chuckled. “Now, that’s a lie if I ever heard one.”
“You’re right, it is a lie. Goodbye.” She turned and marched off, weaving her way through the crowd of people clogging the streets. Did she really think he was going to let her off that easy?
This was a vacation, and he intended to have fun.
Ivy zigzagged her way through the crowd, resisting the urge to break into a run and let Dillon see her desperation.
The market was hot and noisy, the air filled with the spicy scent of unfamiliar and delectable foods she had been hoping to sample. There were a million different things to see and do, places to explore.
And she’d planned to do it alone.
Barely thirty seconds passed before she heard Dillon say, “Where’s the fire?”
She groaned to herself. He wasn’t going to leave her alone. He was going to dog her all afternoon, like a joy-sucking leech. And how had he managed to find her? She’d waited until no one was around to sneak out of the house, and she hadn’t told anyone, not even Deidre, where she was going.
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